Never So Young
by inbetweenbreaths
Summary: A slightly witchy Vauseman AU for autumn, mostly set in high school. "She doesn't yet know that love is love, and magic is magic, and when the two cross paths it's never the way you expect."
1. Chapter 1

(A witchy little Vauseman AU for October, inspired by the movie Practical Magic and probably told in three parts.)

* * *

There's nothing Alex Vause hates more than the first day of a new school year.

The other kids show up with their new haircuts and their new clothes, all soft unwrinkled cotton and stiff denim like they just came off the factory lines-and then there's Alex. Her hair looks the same as it did last June except for the trim her mom gave it in front of the bathroom mirror. She hasn't quite grown into the clothes she's wearing—old shirts of her moms and thrift store jeans, soft and grass-stained and rolled up at the ankles.

She finds an empty table during lunch and sits down, burying her nose in a book so she can at least _pretend_ not to hear the laughter as Jessica Wedge's entire table points in her direction, mouths open in delight as if they're looking at an exotic zoo animal instead of just _Alex_. She'd hoped that the fun of it would have worn off by now—that this year they'd find someone _else_ to pick on, but no such luck.

Jessica's voice lifts above the general cafeteria din, carrying snatches of conversation across the aisle. She's talking so loudly it's like she _wants_ Alex to hear.

"I can't believe they live in that house. It looks like a low-budget horror movie location. Of course, that's what you get when your mom is some kind of _witch_ …"

Alex lifts the book a little higher until it obscures her face completely, just the top rims of her glasses peeking over the edge of the pages. It doesn't help. She still feels like the punchline of everyone's favorite joke.

When the bell signals the end of the school day she heads for the exit so fast she almost runs into her new science teacher. She dodges around Mr. Campbell with a murmured apology, shoving the heavy door open with both hands and bursting through into September sunlight.

Kids start streaming out of the building behind her, heading for the row of buses that line the parking lot. Alex takes one look at the queue for her bus and decides she'd rather walk home than sit with anyone on her route. She hitches her backpack over shoulders and turns away from the school, feet scuffing along the pavement as she crosses the street and heads for home.

Alex and her mom live in the last house out on the headland, in old Victorian cottage that's been mostly abandoned to the passage of time. Overgrown rose bushes line the fence, twisting up through an old and leaning pergola just inside the gate. Gardens that had once been carefully plotted have grown wild, plants fighting each other for living space along the old raised flowerbeds and spilling onto the weedy cobblestone walkway. The house is badly weathered, decades of dirt dulling its once-white trim. The entire property thrives on an undomesticated, inelegant wildness.

When Alex lets herself in the smell of fresh coffee draws her toward the kitchen. Diane Vause is sitting at the counter, work uniform on, downing a steaming cup. She looks up at the sound of her daughter's approach.

"Hey kiddo, how was school?"

Alex gives a noncommittal shrug. She doesn't want to talk about how Peter Dennis kicked the back of her chair all through algebra, or how Sarah Brown tied two pencils into the shape of a cross and brandished it at Alex each time they passed each other in the hallway; the old sign to ward off a witch.

"You know," she says vaguely, hopping onto the countertop to perch beside her mother's half empty coffee cup. "Same as always."

Diane gives her daughter a knowing look. "Smug brats still acting like they own the place?" she guesses, taking another long sip.

"Pretty much."

"Don't worry about them. They're due for a round of bad acne soon, and nothing kills teenage ego faster. They'll be wishing they had your mom's good genes then."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better, or are you just gloating?"

"Both," Diane says with a wink. She pushes the cup away and stands up, swiping her apron off the countertop as she rises. "I'm working until close tonight. Don't stay up too late, okay?"

"Okay."

"G'night, Al," she says, tugging Alex forward to kiss her forehead. A moment later she's gone, locking behind her and leaving Alex alone for the night.

Alex takes her homework up to her bedroom and spreads her books out on the floor, but she can't concentrate. Her mind is too full of other things: of Jessica's taunts and Sarah's rubber-banded cross, and suddenly all she can think about is how badly she wants to skip school tomorrow, and the day after that, and preferably for the rest of her life.

She closes her eyes. When she opens them, a thin line of silvery light slants across the floor beside her. Alex glances at the window to find that night has fallen and the moon is full, and her heart leaps into her throat.

There are things she's learned from her mother that could never be taught by anyone else: always throw spilled salt over your left shoulder, plant lavender for luck, keep rosemary by the garden gate to ward off misfortune, and if you're going to make a wish don't bother with stars—it's a full moon you need, and the brighter the better.

Gazing up at the full moon through the window, Alex makes a wish. A simple one, though she'll never tell a soul what it is.

And maybe it's magic, or maybe it's just a coincidence, but the next day something's different.

When Alex heads for her usual table at lunchtime there's already somebody sitting there. She's wearing corduroys and a button-down blouse—the kind of thing Jessica Wedge and her friends would have worn last year but definitely not _this_ year—and her blonde hair is pulled into two neat braids. A book obscures her face, but even so Alex is pretty sure she's never seen this girl before. She looks a bit too Little House on the Prairie to be an islander, but she seems quiet and unassuming and something about her makes Alex feel bold enough to approach.

"Something wicked this way comes," Alex murmurs, and allows herself a wry smile because, obviously, _she's_ the something wicked.

The new girl jumps a little in her seat, eyes flicking upward to meet Alex's gaze uncertainly.

"The title of your book," Alex clarifies. "I recognize the cover."

"Oh." The blonde girl lowers her paperback a little, and her eyes sweep appraisingly over Alex's figure. "Have you read it?" She asks, her voice a little shy.

" _One strange wild dark long year,_ " Alex quotes, " _Halloween came early_. And that was the October week when they grew up overnight, and were never so young any more…"

"It's a little creepy, isn't it?"

Alex shrugs. "Creepy is good."

"I guess," the girl says pensively. "Is this your table? I thought it was empty, but I can move."

"No, it's okay. I'm Alex."

"Piper Chapman."

That's how it starts. When Alex heads home after school she only makes it two hundred before she realizes she's being followed. There's a pair of footsteps mimicking her own, and then Piper falls into step beside her, book bag bouncing a little as she struggles to keep pace with Alex's longer strides.

"Hi," she says, between heavily drawn breaths. "Can I walk home with you? I think we're actually neighbors."

Piper starts talking, and she talks a _lot_. She talks about how her family had to move because something bad happened to her dad's law firm and he lost his job, and then something else happened to his financial accounts, and they had to sell off all their assets to stay afloat. The words sail over Alex's head— _firm, financial accounts, assets_ —like they're a foreign language, but what she gathers in the end is that Piper's immediate family now lives in Celeste Chapman's vacation home on Rock Point. It's the only other inhabited house on the headland, and it's right next to the Vause's old cottage.

Piper starts to lose steam as they're walking down the gravel drive that curves out toward edge of the island. Her expression crumples a little.

"Listen," she says, "the other girls said some… _things_ about you."

"What things?" Alex tenses, tugging self-consciously at the straps of her backpack and shifting the weight higher.

"Things about your mom, and… you know, kind of weird stuff that happens at your house."

Alex takes a deep breath. "What stuff?" she demands, a little too sharply.

"Well, I guess, like—magic?" Piper looks mortified as soon as she says the word, and her expression suggests she'd like nothing better than to go back in time and unsay everything she's spoken in the last five minutes.

They're almost at Piper's driveway now and, as if on cue, they both stop walking.

When Alex doesn't reply, Piper looks over at her awkwardly. "Is it true?"

Alex's hands curl into fists around the nylon straps. "What do _you_ think?"

Piper's cheeks go a little pink, but she doesn't look away. Her answer comes out in a steady parade of words, like she's conducting them carefully. "There's no such thing as magic," she says. "Not _real_ magic, and not witches either."

Alex doesn't say anything, just adjusts the positioning of her glasses and starts walking again.

"Besides," Piper continues, "The girl who said it didn't seem very nice. She never even asked me my name."

They're in front of Piper's house now, at the gate of the picket fence, but she seems to hesitate. One foot inches toward the gate, the other remains firmly planted. She glances tentatively at Alex. "Do you want to come in for a snack?"

Alex peers past her, surveying the freshly mowed lawn that eventually meets up with the wrap-around porch. She takes in the sight of the newly-painted lattice work with the honeysuckle climbing up the sides of the house, dripping red-orange flowers. The Chapman's property is as bucolic and tidy as Alex's is ramshackle and in need of repair, and she feels suddenly embarrassed about the contrast, about the clear demarcation where the mowed grass ends and the tangle of overgrown rose bushes around _her_ house begins.

"Your parents won't mind?" she asks, half-hoping it'll change Piper's mind.

But the other girl just shakes her head and favors Alex with another shy, encouraging smile.

They go inside together, and just like that it becomes routine.

The next day they skip the school bus and walk home again, and Mrs. Chapman has carrot sticks and apple juice waiting in the kitchen. The following day they endure the scathing looks being thrown their way from Jessica Wedge's table, and Alex keeps waiting for Piper to lose interest. But Piper still finds her after the bell rings, picking up the threads of their lunchtime conversation and continuing on like it had never ceased.

At first she talks a lot about her family and her old home in Connecticut. Alex listens more or less silently, feeling a kind of vague discomfort about how little she can relate. There are other uncomfortable things, too, like the disapproving frown on Mrs. Chapman's face when she spots Alex following her daughter into the kitchen. Like the gleaming backsplash tiles and the cabinet of polished silver with not a speck of dust to be found, and how Alex's too-long sleeves brush crumbs clumsily across the porcelain plates.

But the conversations switch to other, easier things: their classes, the other kids at school, movies, music, books. On Friday Alex lends Piper a copy of one of her favorite novels; when Piper returns it on Monday the pages are feathered with post-it notes. She flips through it on their walk home, pointing out her favorite passages and positing theories about the cliffhanger at the end of the book.

Their after-school routine never varies; not until the end of the October, when Alex first broaches the topic with her mom. It's a Tuesday evening and she's doing homework at the kitchen counter, her textbooks spread out amidst jars of camphor and sandalwood.

She puts her pencil down and looks up, adjusting her glasses carefully.

"Mom?"

"Hmm?" Diane has something bubbling away on the stove, and whatever it is gives off a strong smell of spruce and sage.

"I was thinking maybe Piper could sleep over this weekend."

Diane reaches for a vial of some other herb, dropping a pinch of it carefully into pot. She gives her daughter a brief, calculating glance. "You don't need special permission to have friends over, Al."

"Yeah, I know," Alex says slowly. "It's just that the Chapmans are sort of…"

"Stuck up?" her mom supplies. "Prissy? Rude?"

"Yeah. Not Piper though," she says quickly.

"Sure, not Piper. Hand me a spoon, would you?"

Alex rifles through a nearby drawer and withdraws the requested utensil. She hands it over wordlessly, and Diane's attention returns to the stove.

After a moment of pained silence, Alex tries again.

"I was thinking maybe you could not do _this_ while she's here."

Diane stops stirring. "Not do this?" she repeats, eyebrows raised in challenge.

"Potions. Spells. Weird stuff."

"I see."

Alex exhales heavily. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say it like that, it's just… I don't want Piper to freak out, okay? I'm always at her house, and she keeps asking why she never gets to come over _here_ , and I don't know what to tell her. I don't want her to see this—" she gestures to the jars of herbs littering the counter "—and then get spooked and tell the whole school about it."

Diane puts the lid on the pot and wipes her hands on her apron before turning back to face her daughter. "You just told me that Piper's different."

"She _is_ different, but—"

"You can't hide parts of yourself to make other people comfortable, Al. There's good and bad to every person. There's normal and there's weird, and you can't make any of it disappear just by pretending."

"Mom, please. Just while Piper's here, no weird stuff. _Please_."

Diane sighs, shakes her head a little sadly, and turns back to resume stirring the pot. "Okay," she says, in a tone that hints at disappointment. "No weird stuff."

It doesn't feel good, the disappointment—but Alex would rather endure that than have Piper run out of the house screaming, so she picks up her pencil and turns her attention back to her homework and they let the subject drop.

On Saturday Piper shows up at precisely 7pm, and Alex is so nervous that her hands shake a little as she opens the front door. When they climb the second set of stairs up to Alex's bedroom, her palms begin to sweat.

Personally, Alex has always liked sleeping in the attic. Sure, it's drafty in the winter, and almost always dusty, and it smells faintly of mothballs and sawdust; but there's a kind of hard-won romance about inhabiting it. Attics are a site of adventure in all of the best books, and Alex at thirteen is still too young to fear the kind of stories that appear suddenly and grab hold without permission.

Piper takes one look around, lets out an awed breath and whispers, "this is so _cool_."

Alex's fear dissipates immediately, replaced by a formidable sense of her own intrigue through Piper's eyes. They pile old cushions on the floor and drape sheets over the backs of chairs and make a blanket fort, where they fall asleep hours later. From then on weeknights are spent at the Chapmans doing homework; but weekends are for Alex's house, for movie marathons and pizza deliveries and staying up late to read by candlelight.

It's wonderful, having a friend. It feels like a wish come true. Alex gives silent thanks on each full moon, certain in the knowledge that it _was_ her wish that brought Piper to town.

But friendship is fragile, too. It only takes one night for Alex to realize how close she is to losing it, and how badly that frightens her.

They're in the attic when it happens. During sleepovers Piper almost always tires first and she's out cold by midnight, lying on her side, a paperback fallen facedown where it slipped from her fingers.

Alex, on the other hand, is very much awake. She's watching candlelight lick the shadows beneath Piper's chin, listening to the sound of a nightbird calling through the open window. She loves this time of night; _the witching hour._ She loves the stillness and the quiet, and most of all the sense that between now and sunrise there is the potential to discover something profound, something that can only reveal itself in deepest hours before dawn.

She blows out the candles, and the darkness that follows is absolute. Piper is a vague black shape beside her. In the silence Alex can hear each breath she takes, soft and rhythmic and comforting.

It takes a while for sleep to come, but just as it finds her there's a sound downstairs; a sudden heavy knocking, someone pounding their fist against the front door. Thirty seconds later there are voices—her mother's, and another that rises shrilly, sounding near hysterics.

There's a twist of dread in Alex's gut. She knows what this is, and for a moment her mind floods with betrayal— _mom_ promised _, no weird stuff_ —before her eyes flick open and she glances at Piper's dark form, already sitting up in alarm.

"What's going on?" Piper asks, her voice tremulous from the sudden wakeup.

"Nothing," Alex murmurs. "I think one of my mom's friends just came over."

The voice of the woman downstairs cracks and breaks, like she's starting to cry. Her tone is desperate, pleading.

"She sounds really upset," Piper ventures.

Alex doesn't say anything. There's a lump swelling up in her throat. _Not now,_ she thinks. _Not with Piper here. Not now._

Then there's a blur of movement as Piper casts off the blankets and stands up, the floorboards creaking beneath her bare feet.

"Where are you going?" Alex asks, bolting upright.

"I just want to see who it is." Piper's voice is already further away, the dark shape of her body nearing the top of the staircase.

"Don't, Piper," Alex says, as she scrambles to her feet. "It's none of our business. Wait!"

But Piper's footsteps are thumping softly down the stairs, and Alex chases after her with a defeated huff.

She finds Piper sitting on the second floor landing with her knees drawn up against her chest. From their vantage point at the top of the stairs they can see through the doorway into the kitchen. The woman—who Alex recognizes as the town florist, Miss Margaret—is leaning against the kitchen table she gasps for breath, her face flushed and her eyes fever bright.

"Have you thought this through, Marge?" Alex's mom is asking, her voice calm and steady. "Are you really _sure_ you want to do this?"

"Yes," Miss Margaret gasps, her fingers balling into fists. "Yes, I have to. I can't stand seeing him with her. I want him back, Diane. I want him to love me the way he used to. I _need_ him to love me."

In the shadows at the top of the stairwell Alex and Piper lock eyes with one another. Piper's are wide and bright and questioning, but Alex just shakes her head and holds a finger to her lips.

Diane begins to lay objects out on the table, Alex recognizes them at once: the white candles, the bowl sprinkling with rose petals, the dagger; ceremonial implements.

Piper's eyes are wider than ever, and now there's a hint of fear in her expression. Alex's hands feel cold and bloodless as she clutches them against her belly, waiting.

Diane walks away and returns with a dove in her hands, pinning its wings carefully to keep it from struggling free.

"The dagger," she says softly, and Miss Margaret picks it up with shaking fingers, her face pale and her lips pressed thin with determination.

"I want him to want me so badly he can't _stand_ it," she whispers.

Then she thrusts the knife forward, straight into the bird's heart.

Alex hears the soft gasp of surprise as Piper turns her head away, but her own gaze remains steadfast. She watches the dagger plunge, watches the dove's white breast turn scarlet as the bird jerks and struggles in one last mad effort to free itself.

This isn't the kind of casting her mom has shown her before. This is _real_ magic, and real magic is messy. It wants blood, and pain too. It takes these things ungently, bent on fulfilling its promise.

Piper's clammy palm finds Alex's in the dark. Their fingers interlock, hands gripping each other so tight she can feel the press of Piper's pulse against her skin. Alex squeezes her fingers. Piper squeezes back. Their heartbeats find a shared rhythm, loud and hard and perfectly in sync.

Diane glances up—just for an instant, but long enough for Alex to know that she's seen them sitting there at the top of the stairs.

She stands up, pulling Piper with her. "Come on," she murmurs. Together they retrace their steps, retreating back up to the attic.

They break away from each other when they get there. Piper collapses wordlessly on the pile of pillows and lies still. Alex's fingers twitch for something to hold onto.

"Are you okay?"

Piper doesn't answer her directly. Instead, she asks, "does you mom do that often?"

Alex lays down next to her, folding her arms across her chest. "Sort of."

"You never told me."

The words are fearful and accusatory and wondering _,_ all at once.

"I know."

"Why?"

She can't see Piper's face in the dark, but she pictures it anyway: the furrowed eyebrows and slightly parted lips and the confused, hurt look in her eyes.

"Because," she says, sucking in a breath. "What was I supposed to say? I can't explain this, Piper. Not to _you_."

"Not to me? What's that supposed to mean?"

 _That I made a wish and you appeared. That you're part of the magic, and you'd hate it if you knew it._

"I wanted you to like me," Alex confesses, and the hollow places in her chest ache with each breath that moves through them. "I _still_ want you to like me, Piper. I don't want you to stop being my friend."

There's a long pause. She can _feel_ her own pulse racing; ears, chest, and limbs all threaten to burst open from that frantic beat as the sound of it fills the silence.

"Alex," Piper says finally, in a soft, small voice. "You're my _best_ friend."

Alex swallows hard. Her heart leaps into her throat.

"I wish you would have told me," Piper continues.

"I don't want you to think-"

"I know."

"Are you mad?"

"Only a little."

The floorboards creak softly as Piper shifts onto her side. Alex shifts too, and now they're facing each other. Two long silhouettes, two pairs of eyes reflecting moonlight.

"We're okay?" Alex asks.

"Of course we're okay _,"_ Piper answers.

They lay there unmoving, side by side in the dark.

When slumber comes for Alex she wards it off, waiting for Piper's breathing to even out first before letting the lullaby of it serenade her sleep.

Piper leaves early the next morning to go to church with her family, but Alex sleeps until half past noon. When she wakes her eyes feel dry and sore as if she'd been crying, even though she knows she hasn't.

She's in the kitchen cracking eggs into a skillet when she hears her mom at the front door.

"Morning, kiddo." Diane tosses her work apron on the counter as she enters. She pauses to sniff the air, and casts a quizzical glance at her daughter. "Do I smell coffee?"

"Yeah."

"Since when do you drink coffee?"

Alex shrugs, back still turned. "Couple of weeks now." Her tone is flat and indifferent as she reaches for a mug from the drying rack in the sink.

"Jesus, you're too grown up for your own good. Pour me a cup, huh?"

Alex complies wordlessly, sliding the full mug carefully across the counter. No milk—her mom has always taken her coffee black. They still haven't made eye contact, and Alex turns turns her back again to stir the eggs in the skillet.

"Al."

"What?" she says, a little too sharply.

"I'm sorry about last night."

Alex takes a long, careful breath and then presses her lips together. Arguing with her mom always makes her feel worse instead of better. Instead she lets the anger out a little at a time, like deflating a balloon before it can burst.

Exhale. Inhale. _Pause_. Exhale again.

The spatula scrapes against the pan.

"Everything okay with you and Piper?"

Alex turns off the gas, lifts the skillet off the stove, and scrapes the eggs out onto a plate.

"I guess so," she says finally.

"I know I promised, but-"

"It doesn't _matter_ ," Alex says forcefully, stabbing at her food. The fork slides against porcelain with an ear-splitting screech, making them both wince.

"Hey." Diane tugs gently on her daughter's arm. Alex looks up at her, eyes blazing. "What's going on, Al?

She lets her fork clatter back onto the counter and takes a deep breath, fixing her mom with a wholly determined gaze.

"If you can do love spells, then why didn't you just cast one on my dad? Why couldn't you just _make him stay?"_

The question falls heavy and leaden as stone, and Diane shrinks away like she's dodging a slap. Her face turns white, and then her skin flushes pink again all the way down her neck.

"Alex..." she says sadly, "you can't change someone's heart."

"But Miss Margaret-"

"Miss Margaret wants to _believe_ she can, because otherwise she has to admit she lost the man she loves."

"But that spell was real!"

Diane smiles sadly. "Yes, it was real. And you heard what she wished-that he'd want her so much _he can't stand it._ That poor man will probably never know a moment's peace again. But it won't make him come back to her, and it won't make her happy."

Alex slumps forward, elbows landing hard against the countertop. "I hope I _never_ fall in love," she says vehemently, and closes her eyes.

She doesn't see the knowing expression on her mother's face. She doesn't yet know that love is love, and magic is magic, and when the two cross paths it's never the way you expect. Only after it ends can you put the pieces together and point to a moment say, _there_. _That's the moment I never want to let go of_ , or _that's the moment I am desperate to forget._ Only then do you understand you never had a choice.

* * *

 _(The line "always throw spilled salt over your left shoulder, plant lavender for luck, keep rosemary by the garden gate" is imprecisely quoted from Practical Magic, and the love spell/dove scene is also derived from the movie.)_

To the loyal readers: I'm sorry that new fic has been so long in coming. I'm planning two more parts for this one, though I'm not sure how soon I'll be able to post them. I edited this pretty quickly, so I'll do another check for typos later. As always, thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

"You're joking."

"Nope."

"You've seriously never carved a pumpkin before?"

Piper rolls her eyes and flops backward onto Alex's bed. "Is it really necessary to keep repeating the question?"

Alex seizes a pillow and tosses it in her direction, but Piper surprises her by catching it in mid-air and whipping it back. It hits Alex full in the face before she has time to duck, knocking her glasses askew.

"Hey!"

"Serves you right," Piper says smugly. "I don't know why you care so much about this anyway. Weren't you just ranting about 'Halloween commercialism' the other day? You spent twenty minutes condemning candy corn."

"Candy corn is _gross_ ," Alex says with emphasis, running a hand through her hair to sooth the static mess made by the pillow. "But pumpkin carving? Come on, that's like, a national tradition. How can it be that Piper Chapman, prodigal daughter of the most all-American family ever to live in this town, has never carved a pumpkin before?"

"Because," Piper replies, exasperated, "it's messy. And tacky. My mom usually just buys a bunch of gourds and hangs some Indian corn on the front door."

"Oh, because _that's_ not tacky."

" _Alex_."

"Cancel your Friday night plans, Pipes," she says, jumping to her feet and grabbing her sweatshirt of the end of the bed. "We've got pumpkins to mutilate."

"What, _now?_ "

But Alex is off before Piper can protest, thundering down the stairs as she pulls her sweatshirt over her head. By the time she reaches the landing Piper is right behind her, just like Alex knew she would be.

At age fifteen they're practically inseparable. Diane Vause has begun referring to their next-door neighbor as her daughter's shadow, because wherever Alex goes Piper is right there with her. At first it was just to school or into town, but now it's other places too—to bonfires on the beach, the furthest point of the peninsula after dark, and classmates' house parties. One afternoon last summer Alex decided to test her new fake ID and buy cigarettes from the town's only convenience store. Piper tried to talk her out of it for the better part of hour—' _the owner's son is in our grade, Alex'_ — but in the end she followed her inside, standing nervously next a rack of 99 cent chips while Alex put on a convincing enough show of confidence to walk out with a pack of Newports in hand. She ended up throwing most of the cigarettes away—but not before sharing one with Piper, laughing as they both choked inexpertly on lungfuls of smoke.

Testing Piper's tolerance for mischief has become her favorite pass time. There's something satisfying about seeing her tightly-wound friend unravel just a little, and Alex likes knowing she's the only person who can provoke her into it without causing any genuine upset. Piper may grumble and gripe a little about Alex's idea of fun, but she always goes along with it.

As far as Friday night plans go, pumpkin carving is pretty tame. They find a farm stand on main street and Alex sits on a decorative bail of hay as Piper inspects every single pumpkin on the table, turning each one over in her hands like she's been tasked with quality control.

"Pipes, would you just pick one already?" Alex demands Her hands are shoved deep into her pockets to protect them from the chilly autumn air.

"Okay, fine!" Piper puts down the one she's holding, retraces her steps, and hefts the biggest of the bunch into her arms. "This one."

Alex pulls a handful of crumpled bills out of her pocket, hands it to the attendant, and snatches the nearest pumpkin off the table. "Let's go."

"You didn't even check to make sure it's not rotten," Piper says, pouting slightly.

Alex rolls her eyes. "So now _you're_ the expert? It's round, it's orange—it's perfect. C'mon."

It's dark by the time they start walking home, and unseasonably cold, even for October. Neither one of them is adequately dressed for the weather. They walk close together as if it will somehow keep them warmer, elbows knocking into each other's and prompting a war of nudges and shoves that lasts the last half mile to Alex's house.

When they get inside Piper makes tea, while Alex covers the kitchen table with newspaper and lays out the carving implements. She demonstrates how to carve a hole in the top of the pumpkin, and then sets it aside.

"You have to scoop out the pulp first, like this." She grabs a handful of stringy pumpkin innards and deposits them onto the newspaper with a satisfying _plop_.

Piper looks at the cutaway hole in her own pumpkin with suspicion. "Using my hands?" she asks dubiously.

"Obviously."

Alex pauses in her efforts in order to watch as Piper reaches for a handful of pumpkin goop. The look on her face suggests she might as well be picking up dog shit with her bare hand. "Ew, it's slimy!"

"That's why it's _fun_ ," Alex informs her. "Carol probably never let you make a mess of anything, right? Think of it as an act of rebellion."

"I don't really get what's so _fun"_ —Piper deposits a scoop of pulp onto the table— "about mess."

"You don't?" she asks innocently, and slides off her chair with practiced ease.

"No," Piper says through gritted teeth, all her attention on the task at hand. "I don't."

"Maybe I should show you." Alex reaches for a handful of orange pulp.

"What?" Piper glances up, and her eyes immediately widen. "Don't, Alex. Don't you da-"

The pumpkin goop hits mid-threat, perfectly aimed at the side of her head. She jumps to her feet with a high-pitched shriek as pumpkin splatters her cheek and sloughs off onto her shoulder. _"Alex!"_

Alex points a slimy finger at Piper's face as she doubles over with laughter. "Sorry," she says insincerely as she straightens up, "I just couldn't— _hey!"_ She ducks as a handful of pulp sails toward her. It hits one of the kitchen cabinets with an ugly squelching sound. Another clump follows and this time finds its mark, splattering all over the front of Alex's shirt.

She wipes the muck onto the floor and looks up, glaring daggers. "You shouldn't have done that," she growls.

"No?" Piper's holding a fistful of pumpkin in each hand, dancing from side to side like a boxer.

"No," Alex says grimly. She lurches toward the table and swipes up a handful from the discard pile, and suddenly there's pumpkin flying everywhere as they pelt each other with clumps of the stuff.

Alex charges around the kitchen, landing a good hit before Piper can roll away. She dodges beneath the kitchen table but Alex is waiting on the other side as she crawls out, smushing a slimy handful into Piper's face as blonde half-laughs and half-screams in surprise. Seconds later she's dragged Alex to the floor, smearing pumpkin everywhere she can reach as she pulls her down.

They grapple for a moment; Piper puts up a good fight, but Alex is taller and stronger. She manages to twist out from the other girl's grasp and reverse their positions so that she's sitting on top, grinning victoriously as she pins Piper's shoulders to the floor.

"Get off!" Piper gasps, and Alex can feel her muscles contract as she shakes with laughter.

"No way! Not until you drop the pumpkin!"

"Fine!" Piper unclenches her fist and lets the last of the ammunition slip to the floor. "You win. Can I get up now?" She tries to shake herself free, but Alex leans harder against her shoulders and re-pins her just to prove the point.

"I can't believe you just tried to wrestle me. You're a lightweight, Pipes."

Piper giggles. Her face is flushed and her skin is so warm that it's practically radiating heat, and there's little enough air between them that Alex can actually _feel_ it. Something about Piper seems to glow, soft and warm like lamplight. Her hair is matted with orange pulp and there are pumpkin seeds stuck to her cheek but Alex thinks, absurdly, that she's never seen Piper look more beautiful before than she does in this moment, lying on the kitchen floor. Skin slick, hair damp, a look of pure elation on her face.

Alex finds herself apologizing without quite knowing why. "Sorry," she says as she lets go of Piper's shoulders. For some reason she can't bring herself to look back down and meet Piper's eyes, so gets to her feet and looks around the kitchen instead.

"Jesus. We really made a mess." There are stringy clumps of pulp all over the floor, cabinets, and countertops.

"We'd better clean it up before your mom gets home," Piper agrees. They both know Diane wouldn't really care about the mess; it's more about not wanting her to come home from from a twelve-hour shift and walk into a disaster zone.

It takes them nearly forty-five minutes to scrub all the surfaces clean. They take turns showering, and Piper changes into one of Alex's tee shirts and a pair of sweats. When they finally get around to carving their pumpkins, Piper is predictably meticulous about her design. She draws it on first with a sharpie, and then spends a slow, methodical hour making careful incisions and tiny sawing motions, tongue stuck between her teeth in concentration.

When she finally finishes, Alex sticks a candle inside. "Turn the lights out," she instructs.

Piper reaches for the switch. "Matches?" she prompts, but Alex shakes her head.

"Don't need them."

She's been working on this for a while now. She stares down the hollow at the plain white candle inside, focusing on the wick as she summons the flame. She can feel the tingling warmth of it gather, flowing from her chest down her arm and into her fingertips. She makes a quick flicking motion; the energy skips from her hand and crosses the air. The wick catches its spark and ignites, Alex lets out a breath of satisfaction.

It seems like a small trick, just lighting a candle, but it's taken Alex months to get the hang of it. Elemental manipulation isn't easy.

"Lights," she says again. Seconds later the room goes dark, except for the glow of the candle as it illuminates the carving.

"How do you do that?" Piper asks.

"What, the candle thing?" Alex shrugs. "I don't know. It just… happens."

"It doesn't 'just happen,' " Piper protests. "You have to _do_ something."

"It's like…focusing your energy," Alex explains softly, her gaze still fixed on the flickering flame. "Drawing it up from somewhere deep inside yourself. Picturing the spark you need to create the flame, and then conjuring it. I think fire is my element," she concludes happily. "Mom's is earth, but she said it doesn't surprise her that mine isn't, because I've killed at least half of her houseplants."

Piper doesn't reply, and Alex finally turns around to look at her. She's still standing by the light switch halfway across the room. Her arms are folded across her chest and she's clutching her sides in a way that looks defensive.

"Piper?"

The sound of her name seems to jolt her back to normal. "Sorry," she says, unfolding her arms to flick the light back on.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine."

But Alex glimpses the frown on her lips, even as she turns her face away to hide it. There's a leaden feeling in Alex's gut, as if she's swallowed a stone. "I won't do it anymore," she says, "if it bothers you."

She says it even though she knows it isn't true; she couldn't stop doing magic even if she wanted to—and she _doesn't_ want to. Magic has shaped her life since before she was old enough to understand how, or why. Rumors of her mother's craft haunted her entire childhood. It's part of her.

"It doesn't bother me," Piper says, in a quiet voice. "It's just… I don't know." She shrugs. "It doesn't matter."

But she looks uncomfortable and it makes Alex afraid. The idea of choosing between the magic and Piper—it's like all the air suddenly leaves the room and her lungs stop working; like there are a thousand splinters beneath her skin. She doesn't want to choose, not ever.

Piper wouldn't even _be_ here if not for the magic.

That's what scares Alex the most.

::::

.

At sixteen Alex gets a job delivering pizzas around town by bicycle, while Piper gets her dad's old Toyota and a spot on the cross country team.

"You don't even like running," Alex reminds her when she delivers news.

"It's not about running," Piper says, exasperated. "It's about college. Colleges want well-rounded students."

She sounds so much like her mother when she says it that it shuts Alex up immediately.

Their schedules take them in opposite directions. Alex works nights and weekends, while Piper spends her afternoons on the running trails behind the high school. Piper's sudden leap into the ranks of the school athletes seems to outweigh the abnormality of being friends with _that Vause girl_ , because suddenly she's getting invitations left and right—to movies and parties and bonfires on the beach, with all of the kids that Alex spends _her_ time avoiding.

At first they try to make it work: a few weeks after the holidays Piper convinces Alex to go a house party at Bobby Kendall's house.

"If you don't go," Piper pleads, "I won't know anyone else there."

"You'll know _everyone_ else there," Alex counters. "And I'm not even invited."

" _I'm_ inviting you. Please, Alex. Just come with me. It'll be fun."

But it's not fun—not even remotely. It's all lanky runner bros and well-sculpted girls wearing tanks tops in the winter, and then there's Alex: sporting her usual ripped jeans and old ratty band tee and faux-leather jacket.

She agreed to go because otherwise she'd just be spending her Friday night alone while Piper ditched her for the party, but Piper sort of ditches her anyway. One minute they're standing together talking and the next she's gone, swept away in a sea of crewcuts and red solo cups as the boy's cross country team comes parading through the living room.

Alex watches her disappear glumly, setting the remains of her drink down on top of an oversized stereo speaker. Some half whit walks up and actually tries to flirt with her, but she gives him a withering stare until he finally takes the hint and shoves off.

When she catches sight of Piper again, Bobby has his arm around her waist. She's leaning into him just a little in a way that looks comfortable and familiar, and suddenly it feels like the unidentifiably mixed liquor Alex was previously drinking is about to come back up. Piper's _never_ mentioned Bobby before. What does that mean? And why did she bother inviting Alex if it was just to be a third wheel?

Piper drove them both here, so Alex has no way of getting home except on foot; it's four miles in the dark with the temperature below freezing, but anything's better than staying at that stupid party.

They don't talk about it afterward. What is there to say?

It's the last time Piper invites Alex to hang out with her _other_ friends. After that, they start drifting apart.

On the surface it looks like the building blocks of Piper's life are falling into place: she's one of the top students in their class, she's an aspiring social butterfly, and no less than three boys end up asking her to junior prom.

But there are cracks in that glossy surface that only Alex notices: the dark circles under Piper's eyes that she has to hide beneath layers of makeup because she's hardly sleeping; the way she never laughs at jokes until her friends laugh first, because she's still shy around them like she's afraid of messing up, embarrassing herself, getting cast back out the group.

Alex understands that feeling. It's the same fear that arose when she and Piper first became friends: the fear that all good things are fleeting.

Piper Chapman's life looks good and clean and stable, but it's splintering. A few weeks into their junior year it finally snaps.

Alex comes home from school one day to find Piper in her room, sitting on the bed with Alex's pillow clutched against her chest. It's weird to see her there—not just because it's Alex's room, and because they just haven't been spending much time together lately, but because Piper is crying.

"Hey," Alex says uncertainly, setting her backpack down on the floor by the stairs.

"Hi," Piper replies. She swipes the back of her fingers beneath her eyes, like she's trying to preserve the makeup that tears have already carried away in their flood. The mascara left sooty trails down her cheeks. "Your mom let me in," she adds, sounding apologetic.

"I figured."

Alex sits down on the bed. There's a foot of space separating them, and for some reason it feels necessary to maintain it.

She fidgets, unsure of what to say.

"Piper…"

Piper sniffles a little. "I'm sorry for showing up here uninvited, I just couldn't go home. My parents…" she trails off.

"You can still hang out here, Piper. We're still friends. You know that right?"

Piper sniffles again, harder than before. "I know," she whispers, and there are tears welling up in her eyes again.

"What's going on?"

"I… I hooked up with Justin Hedges. Last night."

"Oh." Hedges has always been one of Alex's least favorite members of their class at school. He has a stupid faux-hawk; drives a convertible and is constantly talking out of his ass about mechanics, like he thinks he's John Travolta in Grease. She manages to bite back a retort only because Piper looks so completely devastated.

"He, um—" Piper swallows hard, trying to choke back a sob that comes out anyway. "He broke up with me this morning."

"Oh. Oh, Jesus. Piper…"

She puts her arm awkwardly around Piper's shoulder. She doesn't know how to do this; she doesn't know how to comfort her half-estranged best friend about the loss of a boyfriend she didn't even know Piper _had_.

But Piper's body crumples, collapsing into Alex to erase the space between them. Her hands find Alex's shoulders on the way down, and Alex's arms fold unthinkingly around her as Piper's face presses into the crook of her neck.

"I thought he _cared_ ," Piper wails, and her breath is hot against the bare skin of Alex's neck. "What it if it's because of last night?"

"Piper…"

"What if it's because I was bad at it?"

"Piper, _no_."

"I wasn't good enough. _I wasn't good enough_ , Alex."

The words are spoken with such certitude that they sound like a recitation of Piper's personal mantra; like she's said this to herself so often it's an accepted explanation for every disappointment. She's never seen Piper cry like this before—with her whole body, shaking and heaving and emptying itself out.

It's becoming clearer every second that this isn't just about Justin Hedges—it's about everything. The overloaded class schedule and the cross country practices and the long nights of studying, the jam-packed social calendar, the approaching college applications. All the things Piper has taken upon herself in order to please other people.

Piper's tendency toward appeasement is something Alex has always both admired and resented. Admired, because Piper always wants to say and do whatever will make people happy. Resented, because it stretches her thin. She has parceled herself out to so many people that there's almost nothing left. Alex is greedy; she wants Piper whole.

"Stop," she tells her.

"But it's my fault—"

" _Stop_. This isn't helping. You have to breathe, Piper."

Obediently, she sucks in a lungful of air and then shakily exhales.

"Good. Better. Now listen to me, Pipes. Really _listen_ , okay?" She can feel Piper nod against the curve of her neck. "This is not your fault." She punctuates each word like it's its own sentence, clear and steady. "It's _not_ your fault. He's an asshole."

"But I—"

"No. He's just an asshole, and it has nothing to do with you not being good enough. You're _great,_ Pipes. If he can't see that—"

"Don't," she interrupts. "How can you even think that anymore? I've been the worst friend, Alex. The worst." She starts to cry again. "This year, it's been—we don't hang out anymore, and it's my fault, it's just… I'm sorry, Alex. I'm so, so sorry."

She tries to repeat the apology a few more times but she can't get the words out; she's all shaking body and shuddering breaths, and Alex's throat tightens. She didn't realize how long she'd been waiting to hear those words until the moment Piper said them; and while she hates that Piper's heart had to get hurt in order to figure it out, she's grateful for it too.

She wants her best friend back.

"It's okay," she tells her. "I mean, I've been kind of pissed at you. But mostly I just miss you a lot, and I guess some of it is my fault too."

"I'm sorry," Piper whispers again, like a broken record repeating.

"I know. Me too."

Alex closes her eyes and allows herself to lean forward against Piper's warmth so that they're supporting each other's weight. They stay like that for several minutes, Piper still sniffling tearfully, Alex breathing deep to keep herself from breaking.

Then she shifts them gently apart, disengaging Piper's arms from around her shoulders. She takes both of Piper's hands in hers and curls their fingers together, swallowing thickly as her thumbs brush across the backs of Piper's palms.

Then she takes a deep breath, and summons the magic.

It comes faster now when she calls it; she can light a flame in seconds without thinking much about it. She can make water boil, and move small objects, and do basic spells for healing and luck and protection. The magic waits inside her like a reservoir waiting to be drawn from, and when she summons it there's no longer any resistance. She feels it flow through her like blood, radiating from her core to her limbs and down through her fingertips; and where they touch Piper's hands there is a transfer of energy, like sending heat to a flame.

Piper flinches and draws back a little. "What are you doing?" she asks, and her tone carries the same mix of fear and awe as it did on the first night she discovered the existence of the Vause's magic.

"Just trying something," Alex murmurs. She can feel the energy still surging to her fingertips, wanting to be used, waiting to be directed. She closes her eyes and gives it a gentle push—it flows outward, into Pipers waiting hands.

Both sets of fingers tighten; Alex knows it must feel weird from Piper's perspective, to feel someone else's life-force alongside your own; but the way it flows between them is warm and easy and comforting. Alex keeps her breathing calm and even, willing that same tranquility toward Piper's outstretched fingers.

It works. She can hear Piper's breathing even out too, and something loosens between them. Alex withdraws cautiously, pulling her energy back slowly so as not to disrupt Piper's calm.

"What was that?" Piper asks, as she lets go of Alex's hands.

"Magic. It sort of spreads, or flows. I can direct it. Sometimes it makes me feel like I'm more in control. I thought if I could share it with you, it might make you feel… well, better, I guess. Did it?"

"It felt _warm_ ," Piper replies. She looks a little confused—but not scared, which is what matters. "Like when you drink something hot and it warms you from the inside out. Sort of comforting."

She's looking at Alex a little shyly, but she isn't crying or shaking any more. It _worked_. Alex flexes her fingers subconsciously; they're already itching to reach out again, to do more, give more. Her body is suffused with a kind of magical high—an intoxication. It feels like this every time she tries something new, every time she pushes her magic past its prior boundaries. It _wants_ to be used, like it's like it's sentient and alive inside her.

She wants to take Piper's hands again and push harder with the magic, just to see what happens. But suddenly Piper is getting to her feet.

"I have to get home," she says apologetically. "Family dinner. My dad said he wants to talk about something important."

"Oh, right."

Alex walks Piper down the two flights of stairs and to the front door, where they both hesitate.

"Pipes… I'm glad you came over."

"Me too."

Alex thought that things would go back to normal after that, but they don't. Piper remains distant—not just from Alex, but from everyone. For the next couple of weeks she makes herself scarce. She leaves school so fast that, try as she might, all Alex can catch of her is a glimpse through the windshield as her car pulls out of the student lot. She tries calling a few times, but Piper is oddly quiet. She listen and 'hmm's her way through conversations like she's barely even there, and then she gives Alex the brush-off, claiming she's too busy studying to hang out.

Alex can't tell if Piper is mad at her for some reason or just sad about the breakup, but it's obvious that something is wrong. There's an ache in Alex's chest, as if something in her can feel Piper's hurt; as if when she let her magic flow into Piper it just stayed there, lodging itself deep.

It's the evening before Halloween and night is falling. Alex sits by the window watching the last streaks of pale gold and lavender fade from the sky. She can see the Chapman house through the sparse line of trees that separates their property. Piper's bedroom window is a square of golden light, and Alex pictures her bent over her desk, poring over some faultlessly neat notes in preparation for a test that's still days away.

The cold night air is pressed against the window panes; she can feel it when she breathes, a chill creeping into her lungs. She just needs to _do_ something. She glances at Piper's bedroom window, the glow of it warming the night. And then she gets up, shoves a few things in her backpack, and slips out into the night.

The side of the Chapman's house is conveniently tacked with latticework; even more convenient, it holds her weight. She clambers up the side of the building until she reaches the second floor window, where she gets Piper's attention with a soft tap against the glass.

Piper, obviously, is surprised to see her. She's in her pajamas already, light grey tee over dark grey sweats, her hair pulled back into a messy bun.

As she slides the window open, Alex flashes her a grin. "Hey Rapunzel, let down your hair."

Piper rolls her eyes, but she's smiling faintly, and the sight of it fills Alex with relief. She hauls herself through Piper's open window.

"What are you doing here, Alex?"

"Saving you from the monotony of whatever _you're_ doing," she says, looking appraisingly around the room. Sure enough, Piper's textbooks are spread open on her desk. "God, you're seriously studying tonight?"

"I have a test on Monday." Piper says, frowning slightly

"It's Friday, Pipes. It's the night before Halloween."

"So?"

"So we should do something." Alex sits down on the bed and lifts her glasses, sliding them up to rest atop her head. "You've been avoiding me for weeks." She says it gently, the way you touch a fresh bruise. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Piper says, but her gaze slides away from Alex's face, falling without focus on a pile of clothes at the foot of the bed.

"It's not nothing," persists. "I thought things were okay with us?"

"Not everything is about _us_ , Alex."

It hurts a little, the condescending way she says it. She's still looking at the floor like she's afraid to meet Alex's eyes, and Alex isn't sure if the shyness comes from guilt or anger.

Then she sighs, and sits down on the other end of the bed. "I'm sorry. I guess I just haven't felt like hanging out. Or going out. Since… you know. Justin."

"That guy—"

"I don't want to talk about it anymore," Piper interrupts, her jaw clenching just a little.

"Fine," Alex agrees. "But you hiding up here? It's not okay. You're still punishing yourself for something that wasn't even your fault. It's time for you stop worrying about being good enough for other people, and start considering whether those people are any good for _you_. And he wasn't, Pipes."

Piper looks up; her eyes are bright and glassy and little bit red, like she's been crying. "Okay," she says softly.

"What you need, Alex continues, hopping to her feet, "is closure. And that is why we're going out tonight. We're going to steal every garden gnome in town and dump them on his front lawn, and we're going to egg his car, and then we're going to do some other stupid things I haven't thought of yet."

Piper rolls her eyes. "That's incredibly childish."

"Yes," Alex agrees, "it is. But we're still doing it."

"No way. He'll know it was me!"

"It's mischief night. Every teenage idiot in town will be out whacking mailboxes. It could be anyone. And who would have a reason to suspect studious good girl Piper Chapman?" She looks at Piper with her arms folded across her chest, one eyebrow raised in challenge. "Come on, Piper, it's time to choose. Do you want to continue wallowing in here alone, or do you want to go give Hedges what he deserves?"

Piper allows herself the tiniest of smiles. "Do I have to climb out of the window, or can I use the front door?"

Alex grins. "Meet me outside in five."

She slides out the window and back down the way she came, letting herself fall the last half-story and roll onto the dew-soaked grass. She retrieves her backpack from the withered flower bush she hid it behind and strolls around to the front of the house, where Piper is already waiting for her.

They back out of the driveway with the headlights off, and Alex doesn't ask about it, but she assumes Piper snuck out without telling her parents. She puts one one mental tally in the imaginary rebellion column.

They turn off the dirt road and onto pavement, toward the more conventional part of town and its grid of picturesque lawns with perfectly raked leaf piles.

"Look!" Alex points at something, a shape practically inscrutable in the dark. "Pull over."

"What? Why?"

"Garden gnomes," Alex says with a grin.

"Oh my god, you're actually serious about that?"

"I am ever _not_ serious about dumb ideas?"

Piper scoffs, but slows the car to a crawl, and Alex jumps out of the passenger door before the vehicle even comes to a stop. She darts across the lawn, somersaulting through the wet grass for Piper's entertainment as if she's a secret service agent. Then she plucks two lawn ornaments from their resting places and dashes back to the car, yanking the door shut behind her.

"Go, quick!"

Piper hits the gas and they're both thrown backward as the car lurches into motion, their laughter warming up the cold autumn night.

They take turns playing robber and getaway driver until the backseat is crowded with garden decorations, and then they head for Justin's house. They sit in the car for a minute, arguing about what shape they should create with the gnomes, and then settle on spelling out the words "fuck you" in the direction of the house. They lay the gnomes out with precision, staying low to the ground and stifling their laughter so as not to get caught. They they take out the eggs Alex brought—some of them already cracked—and pelt Justin's car with them, watching with glee as the yolk drips down polished red panels.

The porch light comes on as Piper's picking up the last egg, and she drops the carton in surprise. "Shit!" she hisses, fumbling in pocket for the car keys.

Alex has them, and she's already diving into the driver's seat. "Get in!"

"Shit, shit, shit!" Piper chants, as Alex turns the ignition and shifts the car into drive. The front door of the house is opening. "It's his mom!"

Piper stares in horror as her faces emerges, backlit in the doorway; but they're already cruising away, the house disappearing in the rearview mirror.

"Oh no," Piper moans. "She wasn't supposed to see it first. We shouldn't have done that."

"Oh, whatever," Alex rolls her eyes and reaches for the radio, turning the dial. "She raised him, she deserves to know what a little shit he is."

"You want to know the sad thing?" Piper asks, suddenly somber. "I really thought he cared. I thought he—I thought he loved me."

Alex's fingers clench the steering wheel tighter.

"I thought I loved _him_ ," Piper whispers.

The blood rushes to Alex's head, and she can hear it pounding in her ears. She doesn't say anything, but instead of taking the turn that would lead them toward home out onto the headland she turns the car in the opposite direction, back toward the center of town.

"Where are we going?" Piper asks, but Alex doesn't answer. She figures it out a few minutes later, when the car rolls to a stop outside the cemetery gates.

The graveyard is locked at night and they have to climb their way in, but the weathered stone walls are riddled with crumbling holes and perfect handholds and they manage it easily. Alex brought a flashlight, but they don't really need it. The moon is high and bright and full, casting perfectly ample light for them to pick their way between tombs and headstones.

Piper would never admit it, but Alex can tell she's a little bit scared. She reaches for Alex's hand in the dark, holding it tight as they make their way to the back of the cemetery where the oldest grave markers are sinking into the ground at grotesque angles.

"What are we doing here, Alex?" Piper asks again, as she watches Alex unpack the items in her bag. Candles, dried roses, a bowl, a dagger; the same implements they saw Diane Vause use to cast the love spell all those nights ago, when they were younger and smaller and less aware of the world.

"It's a full moon," Alex says cryptically, glancing skyward. "Full moons are best for casting."

"Casting _what?"_

"A love spell." She sits cross-legged on the cold ground and starts lighting candles. Lucky for them it's a windless night. "You keep talking about love like it's something you can _will_ into being, Piper. But that's not how it works. It's just out there somewhere, waiting. You just have to find it. So that's what we're doing: a spell to find your heart's desire."

Piper sits down across from her, looking skeptical and a little unnerved. "Did your mom teach you this?"

"Not this one, no. I've never tried it before. Tonight just feels like the right time."

She sprinkles herbs into the bowl of roses; dried lavender buds and and long stems of thyme grown in her mother's conservatory. She pricks her thumb with the dagger, squeezing a drop of blood into the offering, and then holds it handle-first toward to Piper.

"I don't know, Alex…"

"Magic requires sacrifice," she says calmly.

Piper gives her a long, hard look, but she takes the knife. She presses the tip into her flesh until blood wells up, wincing slightly as she sprinkles several drops of it into the herbs along with Alex's.

Alex closes her eyes and calls up the magic. It tingles warmly in the cold tips of her fingers as she mutters the incantations, letting the words carry away into the night. They stay silent for a long minute after she finishes, waiting for something to happen. Nothing does.

"Maybe you should try it again?" Piper suggests.

Alex opens her eyes, and then gasps; there's a sensation like a hook digging in between her breasts, barbed and sharp and _painful_ —it's tugs her forward and she reaches blindly for Piper's hands, curling her fingers around them.

"Alex!" Piper says frantically. "Are you okay?"

But Alex isn't okay, not even a little. Her chest is burning; her breath comes in gasps. It feels like the magic has control of her, burning through her veins like liquid fire. The grip of Piper's hands is the only thing anchoring her.

"Alex!" Piper squeezes her hands so hard she can feel fingernails indenting her flesh, but the pain of it barely registers. "Do that thing you did before. Let me help. Let—let the magic go."

Without thinking, she does; she opens the floodgates and lets the magic rush out like a tide, and she can feel Piper's body tense as it reaches her. Immediately the pressure is relieved and the pain starts to diminish; the piercing sensation disappears from her chest, and she becomes aware once more of the cold ground beneath her and the moonlight above and Piper's hands holding hers. She yanks her fingers away, gasping.

Piper's face is white as winter frost.

"What _was_ that?" she demands, breathing as hard as if she'd just run a race.

But Alex shakes her head and doesn't speak, because she _knows_ what it was.

The spell worked; her heart's desire was sitting right in front of her.

Moonlight casts Piper's blonde hair with a silvery hue; her cheeks turn rosy as the blood rushes back, pink and perfect and lovely. They're sitting so close to one another that their breath mingles visibly, turning into white vapor as the heat of it hits the crisp October air. They're close enough that if Alex leaned forward, just a little, their lips would touch.

Her heart's desire-

of course it is.

She's in love with Piper Chapman.

* * *

 **notes** : I know it's after Halloween and this whole concept is now a little out of season, but the chapter just kept getting longer and longer and it took a while for me to write. Thanks to everyone who reviewed the first chapter-I really love hearing your feedback. It keeps me motivated :) Hopefully you'll still enjoy the story even though October is over!


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